


rewrite the stars

by FrostybWitch



Category: Merlin (TV), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Supergirl/Merlin AU xover fic, a massive slow burn, a silly fic, mostly about morgana being clueless to our typical daily appliances, you gotta squint for the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-09 07:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13476831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostybWitch/pseuds/FrostybWitch
Summary: In which Morgana Pendragon, the last High Priestess of the Old Religion falls through a portal into the modern realm and the first person she meets is Supergirl.Or.The silly fic where Morgana attempts to make sense of the strange idiosyncrasies of the future, and fails in the most spectacular of ways. No thanks to Kara.





	1. taming the beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written based off this [edit](https://kashymcdreamy.tumblr.com/post/169850947407/supergirlmerlin-au-in-which-morgana-falls) i made on tumblr. because since I’ve already lit the fire of inspiration, might as well just roll with it, right? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

* * *

 

The most jarring thing about the future to Morgana has definitely got to be the hustle and bustle of activity everywhere, coming at her from all corners.

People jostling through crowds, shoulders brushing, head bowed and fingers tapping away at a tiny box-like contraption. It all feels congested; like a tiny island, packed to the brim with people and more people, only made worse by the endless drone of chatter in the background, accompanied by the grating strange honking interspaced between every couple of minutes or so.

It’s all very befuddling to Morgana, though at the same time it’s somewhat reminiscent of the market plaza in Camelot – the high-strung energy buzzing in the air like an incessant thrum, that is. However, instead of tents, they’ve got large high-rise buildings that tower past beyond the eye can see.

Maybe even passing through the clouds and quite possibly the heavens, Morgana would reckon.

But there’s just something so impersonal about the people of the future, so unsmiling and frigid-like. Where unlike in Camelot, everyone feels like they belong to one huge community. A large extended family of some kind, where everyone sort of knows each other one way or another, and at every turn, you’ll no doubt be greeted with a smile from the daily folk.

But alas, what strange times she has landed herself into – a time where shirts and breeches on women are considered nothing out of the ordinary.

She tries her hardest not to fidget in the stifling stiff pair of breeches – or jeans, as the people of the future would call – she had been forced to don, its peculiar material feeling particularly scratchy and rough against her skin. The shirt, though, that – she’s more than alright with. Loose and in no way constrictive, it’s a nice reprieve from her usual tight corsets.

Morgana raises a hand over her eyes, shielding them away from the sun’s persistent glare, beating down over her fiercely. For a second, she wishes she still had her hooded cloak to hide her away from the harsh rays of the sun.

Well, at least one thing that hasn’t changed over the years – over centuries and the past millennium – is the sun and its dreadful relentless capacity to shine.

“Come on, this way.”

At the gentle touch on the small of her back, Morgana starts bodily. It’s amazing what two years without human contact can do to a person, she thinks broodily as she glowers darkly at the blonde woman – Supergirl, or Kara Zor-El, the _fae_ , as per her introduction previously – for her impertinence.

The woman merely ducks at her head abashedly, and flashes her an apologetic smile that Morgana returns with a sigh, absently rubbing at her scarred wrist – a painful reminder of her imprisonment.

“This way,” repeats Kara Zor-El, and this time she’s mindful to keep her distance from Morgana, leading her down the steps from the terribly futuristic building she had been kept in for nearly a full day. While the reception Morgana had received is anything but warm, at least it hadn’t been unkind either, for which she is especially thankful for, considering her weakened state.

But she digresses.

Upon being brought face to face with one of those large metallic beasts that roam the streets at speeds beyond her imagination, Morgana falters briefly.

“It’s a called a car,” the blonde fae explains with a tentative smile, blue eyes soft and annoyingly patient. “We use it to get to places quickly.”

Morgana clenches at her jaw, jolting back slightly when Kara Zor El reaches forwards to pry the beast right open from its middle. Her fingers twitch involuntarily, the faint burn of magic thrumming just beneath her fingertips as she surveys the exposed innards of the beast – ‘car’, as the fae has so kindly put it. Much to her surprise, instead of blood and gore, she is greeted by the sight of plush cushions and leather.

_A carriage within a beast._

_How queer._

The fae quickly scoots right in, settling herself comfortably against the cushions and confines of this… ‘ _car_ ’, before raising a hand up towards Morgana, her smile unfalteringly kind and warm.

“See, it’s safe.”

Morgana frowns, shooting her a wary glance.

At the fae’s outstretched hand, she pointedly ignores the gesture, turning her nose with a sniff of disdain. And with a breath, she steels herself and charily ducks right into the beast, shoulders stiff and unbearably tensed as soon as her rear touches the plush seats.

Beside her, she catches the soft exhale of a near imperceptible sigh.

“So much for chivalry.”

Morgana rolls her eyes.

She is Morgana Pendragon, the last High Priestess of the Old Religion and the rightful queen of Camelot. She has no need for chivalry or gallantry of any kind, much less some mere _fae_ to coddle her when she can very well fend for herself, thank you very much.

Hence, nothing can stop her from (accidentally) setting the innards of the beast on fire when its flank had abruptly slammed shut and it had taken off with a loud piercing screech.

“Damn it, Agent Vasquez!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: i totally wrote this on my seven-hour plane ride, so it's more or less un-edited and full of mistakes. but yeah. i'm sort of intending this to be a drabble collection of sorts, feat. morgana being confused af about the modern world and stuff. so the chapters are gonna' be short, and mostly light-hearted. so yep! i'll see you guys soon.


	2. a sticky situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing host to the fabled dark sorceress of the legends may not exactly be as easy as Kara thinks to be.

* * *

 

With a jangle of her keys and a quick twist of the knob, Kara finally pries the door to her apartment open. And at the expectant look of the woman beside her, she forces on a polite smile and gestures her on forwards.

"This is where you'll be staying for the next indefinite number of days until we manage to sort out your current situation." Kara announces, trying to inject as much warmth and cheer into her voice as she can despite the lingering awkwardness, made worse by the little _incident_ in the car on their way here.

The sorceress merely slides her eyes sideways towards Kara, catching her gaze for a moment, albeit looking thoroughly unimpressed. Coughing gawkily into her fist, Kara fidgets, shrinking further into herself, wishing she hadn't said a thing.

If looks can kill, Kara would have been dead ten times over now.

It's a strange thing, really – to be treated with such animosity from someone she'd just met. From big baddies and evil alien overlords, it's only natural. But from the common everyday citizen? Now, that's very much unheard of.

Then again, the woman standing stoically still beside Kara, isn't exactly what anyone would deem common, much less typical, by a long short.

There's just something about her.

Something dangerous, and deadly. As if setting fire to the front half of a car as a mere reflexive response wasn't evidence enough, Kara can sense it in the air around her – like a thin-wire trap that's ready to be set off at any time. Electrifying and foreboding. The sheer power lying dormant just beyond her fingertips.

She is definitely not someone to be trifled with, that is for sure.

Morgana Pendragon, face blank and eyes ever so inscrutable, takes a tentative, albeit dainty, step over the threshold of Kara's apartment.

Closing the door soundly after them, Kara watches the peculiar woman intently as she regards her new environment with a thinly veiled curiosity, eyes roving and falling onto every piece of furniture with an intense sort of scrutiny.

Jet black hair falling loosely over a shoulder, framing eyes of dazzling viridian green and a high aristocratic nose, she is very much a picture of a modern day beauty, despite it all. No doubt, a sight for sore eyes.

Everything about her, from head to toe, is just so regal. So dignified. Especially the way in which she carries herself – shoulders squared, chin up and spine straight. It simply screams royalty. Casual blouse and skinny jeans, be damned.

It's almost hard to imagine that this was the same woman Kara had found, stumbling out of a dimensional rift; barefooted, hair matted, caked entirely in dirt and grime, and face – a deathly shade of white, lips cracked and beyond chapped. She had been bleeding from the many cuts littered across her body in a tattered black dress that was barely even clinging off from her skeletally thin frame.

It was a pitiful sight.

But at least she had cleaned up well.

"So it's just a mere step up from my hovel."

Kara bristles slightly upon catching the low mutter under the sorceress' breath.

"Excuse me?"

Morgana shoulders past her, blatantly disregarding Kara completely, brisking across the loft to the bed situated at the far end. She settles down on the edge primly, testing the bounce of mattress.

"Is this where I will be resting for the night?"

"Um, yeah..."

Kara nibbles nervously at her bottom lip. Judging by the way Morgana is getting herself all comfy in her bed, it doesn't seem like she'd be willing to share any time soon.

"In that case, I suppose I'll take the couch." Kara sighs in resignation, shuffling dispiritedly to the kitchen to pour herself a calming cup of tea. And maybe even stuffing her face with that tub of ice-cream she'd bought just the other day, as an afterthought.

"You're not leaving."

It wasn't a question, more like a statement. An observation. Though, Kara can't help but detect the slightest hint of confusion in sorceress' steady voice.

She turns to look over at Morgana, matching her puzzlement with her own look of perplexity.

"No, I'm not?"

Sitting there on Kara's bed, Morgana stares at her, long and hard. Although, this time, Kara doesn't shy away, meeting her steely stare head on.

A beat of silence.

Surprisingly, this time, Morgana is the first to break eye contact. She glances around Kara's apartment once more, as if to take in the little details this time, where her gaze finally lands onto the photo frame by her bedside.

Realisation slowly dawns upon her.

"Are we supposed to be sharing this..." The sorceress waves her hand in a vague gesture. "Living quarter?"

"That was the plan. So... Yeah?"

Morgana sighs, albeit not with a roll of her eyes. "I suppose it could have been worse." She murmurs resignedly, rubbing at her temples vexedly.

At that, Kara pulls a face, resuming her sullen trudge to her kitchen area.

"You're not one to complain." She sniffs quietly to herself.

As much as she's trying to be understanding and helpful to Morgana and her steep transition to their current time, she's not making things any easier for Kara by being a complete snoot and a pain in the neck. Inwardly, she wonders if she too had been that way when she had first landed on Earth.

Likely so, considering how Alex had brought it up on several occasions when they were reminiscing over the past. As it would appear, they might be even more similar to each other than Kara had thought. Not that it's anything worth bonding about.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing!"

Boy, is it going to be a long, _long_ day for Kara.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: okay, so i'm back again with a quick one. so yeah, to set the timeline straight, the morgana of this fic is from the end of s4 of merlin, or before the start of s5. where she had been persecuted and captured by king sarrum, essentially being forced to live, chained to a well for 2 years. hence, her edginess and jadedness in this fic. as for kara... hmm. take a guess?


	3. cuisines of the future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Morgana is introduced to our essential modern day junk food – pizza and cola.

“Dinner is served!” The vivacious blonde fae announces brightly with a dramatic flourish of her hands, unable to keep the cheer out of her voice as she grins widely at the set-up of the dining table. So widely that her neat rows of pearly white teeth are set on full display, and her cheeks are bursting full of glee.

It’s nauseating, to say the least; the way her excitement is almost palpable in the air, encasing itself over them like a shroud – a stifling shroud, Morgana would add.

Though, she had remained stiffly unimpressed at the arrangement of… food before her. Several circular and round flattened bread of sorts. Each of which lies nestled within the confines of its own box, bearing varying explosion of intricate colours and patterns over its top.

“What is this?” Morgana asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the alleged ‘delicacy’, as the fae had previously put it with such feverish excitement, before going off to speak into her compact rectangular contraption she has noticed everyone in this day and time seem to possess.

A communication device, perhaps?

“It’s called pizza!” Kara Zor El answers peppily, nudging one of the boxes with the aforementioned ‘pizza’ towards her. “Try it, I guarantee you’ll love it.”

Morgana frowns, gingerly prodding at the box sideways and there, trying to have a better look at it from all angles. That sort of outrageous colours is just so peculiar on food. She absolutely cannot imagine what it can possibly taste like. “But ****_what_**** is it?” She insists, curiosity getting the better of her.

“It’s uh, a flat bread layered with juicy tomato sauce, topped with slices of ham, cheese, and pineapples.”

“Pineapples?”

Morgana can’t help it, but she pulls a face – a disgusted one – at the mention of a fruit-topped over what sounds to be rather a piquant creation. The addition of it is just too queer. Almost random to come to think of it. As if it were thrown in as a careless afterthought by its maker.

“Oh please tell me you’re not one of ****_those_**** people.” The fae groans in mock exasperation, palming at her face. Once again at it with her dramatics.

Some kind of a modern-day in-joke?

Morgana merely sends her a flinty stare.

“Never mind.” The blonde woman waves her off airily. “Just try it. It tastes as good as it smells, really.”

Twitching at her nose, Morgana takes in a deep whiff of the heavenly scent that is wafting off from the boxes of this so-called… ‘pizza’.

It really does smell good.

She cranes her neck a little, peering around the overloaded table-top filled with boxes. “Where is the cutlery?”

“The wha–” Kara Zor El glances up from her slice of pizza, pinched between her fingers and en route to the entrance of her mouth.

“By the gods,” Morgana mutters, stopping short cold of her search, dropping back into her seat with a slump. “Never mind that we’re eating out of boxes. But we’re eating with our hands too?”

Despite the poor living conditions she had been forced into with her leaving of Camelot – a tiny little hovel she had found in the middle of nowhere, made liveable with a hint of magic – she still at least had the good taste to live like a civilised human being, and not like some barbaric savage in the wild.

What has the future become?

“It’s the thing with pizzas, you’ve gotta’ eat with your hands and straight out of the box. It tastes better that way, trust me.”

Morgana slides her a chary glance, lips upturned and pursed into a grimace, watching as the fae shoves a good half of said-pizza slice into her mouth, getting that thick blood-red sauce all over her fingers, the corners of her mouth – everywhere. Though, by some miracle, she somehow manages not to drop a single bit of that garish topping, despite coming close once or twice.

An expertise, as the fae would later gloat.

She watches on in sheer horror as Kara Zor El, fae extraordinaire, literally goes on to inhale, yet another sizable slice of said-lurid creation in no less than a few seconds.

Which is… fairly impressive in the most twisted of sense.

“If you’re not going to eat it, I’ll gladly finish them all for you.” The fae grins, smacking her lips in relish. She wipes at her mouth with her fingers, then licks at them for whatever sauce that is left, clinging to her fingertips.

Morgana winces at the unsightly gesture. For someone as beautiful as herself, she would have thought her to be a little more refined in her manners.

But apparently not.

At the traitorous growl of her stomach, Morgana sighs, albeit defeatedly and relents.

_Anything to survive. Right?_

At least she’s free of her chains, with a roof over her head and proper sustenance to feed off. Beggars can’t be choosers after all.

Ever so tentatively she reaches in for a slice, fingers fumbling about to best orient the portion.

“You do it like this. Fold it in half sorta’, and pop it right into your mouth.” The fae demonstrates, doing exactly just that, albeit making it seem so effortless as she does so. “Easy and delicious!”

Morgana frowns, mimicking after the blonde woman, her movements uncharacteristically ungainly and clumsy, feeling like a newborn fawn learning how to use its legs for the first time. She tries not to cringe when she gets a bit of that sticky, viscous sauce on her fingers, and with much effort, finally gets its pointed end into her mouth.

“How is it?” Kara Zor El asks, eyes bright and body thrumming with nervous anticipation. “Do you like it?”

She holds up a halting hand, chewing slowly as she attempts to make sense of the burst of flavours in her mouth. Turns out, the fae was right. It really is as good as it smells. A slight tangy from the supposed tomato sauce, albeit evened out by the sweetness of the pineapples, finely held up together by the heartiness of the tiny bits and pieces of meat in it – ham, was it? She has never known cheese to be so stringy like that.

How curious.

Fascinating.

Granted, it is a little bit greasy, it’s still like nothing Morgana has ever tasted before.

It’s only after wolfing down her second slice and halfway through picking out her third one, with her fingers coated thickly in sauce and her side of her table littered with all sorts of toppings that she had dropped in the midst of eating, that she had realised she was (is) still being spoken to.

Glancing up, it annoys her the most when she is greeted by a smug look from the fae.

“It’s the most exquisite,” admits Morgana, in between bites, mouth still somewhat full of food. In a tiny voice, deciding to indulge the blonde fae for once, she adds. “I like it.”

“Told you so!” Kara Zor El cheers, grinning winningly at her. She has a smidge of sauce on her right cheek, and she looks ridiculously silly – not that Morgana is going to point that out to her. She can figure it out herself.

Or risk looking like a fool, thinks Morgana with a snigger.

“Here, try this too.”

She pushes a bottle towards Morgana, its material a tad too flimsy to be glass, though firm enough to hold its form. Around its middle is a vibrant red strip with the words ‘Coca-Cola’ across it. And in it, holds a dark, nearly black liquid that swishes about forebodingly, almost evocative of some of the poisons and more sinister potions she has come across – even made some herself – in Camelot.

“You want me to drink that?” She points to the offending bottle of… black liquid.

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s not poison, I swear.” The fae holds up her hands in a placating gesture. She then unscrews the bottle and takes a good swig out of it. “See, still alive.” She smiles, in that lopsided way of hers. “Try it.”

With a wary look, Morgana gingerly accepts the bottle from Kara, and ever so hesitantly holds the rim of the bottle up to her lips.

Her first thought is: it’s disturbingly sweet.

But what she doesn’t expect is for this… odd sensation to bubble up in her mouth.

Like an explosion of magic, and it had taken her aback, so much so that when she had recoiled at the taste, she had also subconsciously released a hint of her magic reflexively, accidentally setting all that’s in front of her on fire – fae included.

“Shit!”  

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: this one ended up being a bit longer than i expected, but this is really turning out to be a joy to write. something like a stress-relief for me. and i'm really glad to see such positive feedback for this fic. thank you all so much for the kudos/comments. it's really mucho appreciated. :) i guess i should probably head back and start working on happenstance :x


	4. think fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What sort of magic is this? I don’t think I have ever come across anything quite like this back in Albion before.”
> 
> “It’s called the plumbing system?”

“I wish to bathe.”

Kara blinks, fingers halting abruptly in their rapid movement across her keyboard as she glances up from her laptop for the first time since starting on her assignment that evening.

“Um, yeah… Sure.” She nods slowly, awkwardly, not entirely sure what she should make of Morgana’s sudden announcement.

It sounded something a lot like a cross between a demand and a request, and for a fleeting second Kara had the very brief notion of being some kind of an evil captor, holding a princess captive for ransom. A notion that she entertains for awhile before quickly shaking it off, fanning Morgana away with a smile and a breezy wave of the hand. “Go ahead, knock yourself out.”

But Morgana, for whatever reason, only remains firmly rooted to her spot before her. If anything, she looks even more sullen than ever, rolling her eyes and sighing exasperatedly as she crosses her arms surlily across her chest. And when she is greeted with nothing but a perplexed blink from Kara, she only sighs some more, albeit this time, sending Kara a flat, unimpressed stare. Like always.

And it’s probably right about then does it suddenly hit Kara.

“Oh!” She jumps to her feet, flashing the sorceress a sheepish smile, the fluff piece she’s been working on already long forgotten. “Right, right. You have no idea how to use the shower.” It’s honestly times like this when she wished she had paid more attention to her history classes back in high school. Though looking back, she was probably still too hung up over the destruction of her home planet to even want to begin learning of the history of some new planet.

When exactly were the plumbing and shower system even invented? She had no idea. Definitely not in the medieval ages, at least she knows that much.

With yet another roll of her eyes, the sorceress shoots Kara a withering look – one that literally screams ‘ _duh’_ in bold capitals if Morgana were a millennial of the future – before wordlessly falling into step behind her as they make a beeline for the bathroom.

“Okay, so the sink and the toilet. You already know how to use them. Over here, we have the shower. And the bathtub.” Kara gestures to the respective appliances with a quick flourish and a grin. “Just like the sink, all you have to do is to twist the tap – this knob thingy right here – and voila!” Right on cue, a torrent of water is sent spraying from the showerhead. “Easy.”

Morgana doesn’t so much as blink this time, merely standing a good distance away from the shower with her arms folded primly. If Kara didn’t know any better she would have thought her unimpressed by the demonstration. But from the subtle arch of her brow and the telltale inquisitive glint in her eye, as per the way her stare remains steadfastly transfixed to the steady stream of water, as if entranced – Kara does indeed know a little better.

At least this time, in light of learning something new, Morgana hasn’t _yet_ set anything off on fire; the charred table-top in the dining room being a reminder of how things went down the last time. _Horribly_ , Kara should add.

Thank _Rao_ that she’s fire-proof or she would have, no doubt, be burnt to a crisp ten times over by now.

Gingerly reaching into the gentle cascade, Morgana’s breath catches, hitching in her throat. “It’s warm.” She murmurs, and there’s no mistaking the quiet awe in her voice. If she wasn’t impressed before, she definitely is now.

“Yeah, you can actually adjust the temperature accordingly by tweaking at the taps. It’s mostly trial-and-error with these things, but this tap gives you hot water, and the other one gives you cold water. Same goes for the taps in the tub.” Kara explains, making sure to be as thorough as possible. “Just be careful not to turn the hot one all the way in, unless you want to scald yourself.”

Because the last thing she needs is for Morgana to accidentally burst a pipe or two out of shock from being taken off guard by something Kara hadn’t prepare her for. She honestly doesn’t think she can afford a round of repairs, considering how tight she is on cash at the moment – the DEO really doesn’t pay her enough for all that she has does sometimes.

The sorceress makes for a soft musing hum. “How curious.” She takes a tentative step forward, rubbing her damp fingers together in a contemplative notion, staring hard at the flow of water for a long extended beat before sliding her gaze back to Kara, eyes alight and brimming with questions. “What sort of magic is this? I don’t think I have ever come across anything quite like this back in Albion before.”

Kara swallows, stunned. It’s probably the first time Morgana has ever outwardly expressed her inquiring mind without so much of a snarky remark or a barbed comment. It’s unusual, albeit most welcoming. And she wishes she could be like this all the time.

“Oh, no it’s not exactly magic. You see, the water actually travels through the pipes and we get them from a water supply that is…” Kara trails off, cutting herself short upon catching sight of the completely befuddled expression on Morgana’s face; at her scrunched up brows and narrowed eyes, looking very much as if she’s trying to make sense of what Kara had just said to no avail.

Kara sighs, soughs in, then out with a resigned breath, plastering on an obliging smile.

“It’s called the plumbing system?”

“The plumbing system…” Morgana echoes, nodding absently to herself, as if trying to commit it down to memory.

She would get it eventually. Somehow. Probably through books, or the TV; that is, if she manages to stay long enough to experience it all. Just like Kara had, once upon a decade or so ago.

Inwardly, Kara wonders if this is what the Danvers had to go through when she had first landed on Earth.

Being swamped down by all sorts of questions and to put up with her idiosyncrasies.

There was a time when trite everyday objects like birds, clouds, and grass had once used to be so bizarre of a concept that she had trouble grasping. It was all just so alien to her, so strange and fascinating. There wasn’t anything quite like that back in Krypton, and she had so many questions. Although, the answers she had gotten back in turn always seemed to leave her in a far more confused state than before.

Just like Morgana, right now.

She turns her gaze back onto the sorceress, regarding her wistfully with a slight smile, watching as she fiddles around with the taps, intelligent green eyes scouring the length of the bathtub, scrutinising every crook and cranny in a thirst for answers.

Kara bites back on a chuckle at the sight. It vaguely reminds her of a curious kitten at play for some reason – or a curious _panther_ at play. Endearing, nevertheless.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it for now. If you need any help just holler, I’ll be right around the corner.”

At that, Morgana straightens a little, righting at her spine, as if suddenly remembering her place and herself. She sends Kara a curt nod before canting her head away in that ever so apathetic manner of hers. “Much obliged,” she mutters quietly under her breath, in a voice so faint that it would have gone by unnoticed if Kara hadn’t been paying attention.

 _Well, at least she’s warming up a little_ , Kara supposes, albeit unable to keep her lips from curling into a smile.

Without another word, she promptly evacuates the bathroom, making her presence scarce.

It is only when she’s nestled comfortably back in her chair, fingers gliding away at familiar keystrokes with the sound of the shower running away in the background and half a page of her assignment left to go, that she’s struck with this odd nagging feeling like she has forgotten something important that she can’t exactly put a finger to.

Not thinking much of it, Kara had simply let it go until she hears the tell-tale squeal of the shower ceasing, closely accompanied by the creak of the bathroom door.

“Do you perchance have anything I can use to dry off?”

It is right then, does Kara makes the dire mistake of raising her head, only to be greeted by the sight of a very naked, very wet Morgana, standing before her and dripping all over her hardwood floors, looking fairly unruffled despite her complete and utter lack of dress.

All in the meanwhile, Kara can only stare and gape, her jaw unhinged and slack.

_Right._

_Clothes._

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: don't we all wish to be in kara's place at the last scene. ;p but ahh, thank you all for the kudos and comments in the previous chapter. again, it's really much appreciated! :) and well, since you know this whole fic is basically a 'morgana reacts to sth' fic, feel free to offer up ideas/prompts/scenarios you might want to see morgana in, in the comments. and with that, i'll see you guys soon. cheers! xox.


	5. a rough start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What sorcery is that supposed to be?” 
> 
> “Oh, is something wrong with the light bulb?” 
> 
> “The what?”
> 
> “The light bu–” The fae cuts herself off short then, suddenly looking to Morgana in the queerest of manner. She purses her lips thinly into a straight line. 
> 
> “You’re not of this time, are you?”

“What are you?”

In the short amount of time since her timely awakening in this strange and unfamiliar environment, Morgana has already single-handedly shattered everything that has been made of glass, set off a fire that would have consequently burnt off half of the cell she’s currently confined in. All if it weren’t for the intervention of this odd woman, draped in the loud garish colours of red and blue; who is now completely at Morgana’s mercy, writhing under the invisible vice grip of her magic.

Blonde hair, blue eyes.

Her sleep-addled mind had immediately turned to Arthur the second her bleary eyes had briefly focussed in on the woman upon rousing from her slumber. But now, at a closer inspection, Morgana can see that her hair is actually a lighter shade of gold, airier in the way it bounces off of her shoulders, glossier in the way it shines under the light; and her eyes, far bluer than Arthur’s stormy grey-speckled blue hues.

Not to mention the fact that she is distinctly female – dainty curves and all.

Though there’s just something about this woman that radiates a certain glow. A glow that enshrouds her wholly, alluringly; just as it is glaring to the eyes, as if she embodies the shine of a million suns in a way that resembles her half-brother. How nauseating.

Pushing herself up onto her forearm, Morgana fights back on a wince at the brief protest her body gives – the ache in her joints and the dull sting in her muscles – as she steadily rights herself into an upright position on the bed that she’s perched on.

“What are you?” She repeats herself once more. Her voice, while lacking in the strength that comes with vitality and health, makes up for it with the cold, underlying promise of danger seething beneath it.

Despite being heavily weakened, she is still the last High Priestess of the Old Religion – a force not to be reckoned with on a whim.

And this woman.

This woman, whatever she is, is somehow able to conjure up ice with a puff of her breath, without so much of a magical incantation.

“I mean you no harm!” The woman chokes out between breaths, struggling to free herself from the invisible hands pressing painfully down against her throat while it suspends her up, dangling in the air. Her gaze turns to Morgana imploringly. “Please.” She wheezes.

She’s really not usually one for mercy. Not after all that she had been through. But with the stress placed heavily on her already weakened body to simply maintain the steady flow of magic pulsing through her veins, Morgana decides to give in.

At least for now.

Her eyes glow a faint amber as she cuts her magic off with a feeble flourish of her hand. And with a soft sigh, she deflates in on herself, breathing raggedly with a hand pressed to her forehead, just as the woman drops solidly onto the ground with a thump and a gasping breath.

“What are you?” It’s the third time she has repeated herself, and she’s dangerously close to losing her patience.

“I could ask the same of you too.” The woman answers sardonically between pants, and it all but triggers a flash of annoyance within Morgana.

With a quick cant of her head, her eyes flicker gold yet once more as the woman is sent slamming up against the wall behind her, the impact quite literally reverberating through the entire room.

But the woman barely even flinches, looking fairly unscathed by the blow.

Morgana’s eyes narrow at this. She raises her hand threateningly at the woman, the hum of her magic thrumming mightily beyond her fingertips, despite her exertion.

“My name is Kara Zor El, and I’m a Kryptonian!” The blonde woman rushes out in a panicked breath.

“Kryptonian?” Morgana inquires. Her hand is still raised, trained and aimed at the woman lying sprawled, limp against the wall.

“I’m not of this planet. I’m, uh, from the planet Krypton.”

“So you’re a _fae_.” Morgana lowers her hand with a sigh, relenting. “I suppose that explains the magic.”

“Wait, what? _Fae_? Magic?”

“You are not a being of this world, are you not?”

The woman shakes at her head vigorously. “No, not entirely. But I don’t have magic. It’s the powers I get from the yellow sun of this planet.”

“So magic,” Morgana concludes with a nod.

“Abilities.” The blonde fae corrects.

Morgana sighs, rubbing tiredly at her temples. “If that is what you wish to call it.” And for the first time since waking, she allows herself to survey her new environment. It appears non-hostile as it is. Warm and brightly-lit with… huh.

She squints up at the roof – at the brilliant glow of light trapped in what seems to be a minuscule glass bottle of sorts.

How… is that even possible?

“What sorcery is that?” She jerks a finger up at the object in question. No known magic has ever been able to achieve that sort of a feat before – to be contained for time on end so effortlessly without its user tiring out.

“Oh, is something wrong with the light bulb?”

“The what?”

“The light bu–” The fae cuts herself off short then, suddenly looking to Morgana in the queerest of manner. She purses her lips thinly into a straight line. “You’re not of this time, are you?”

Morgana frowns. “I do not comprehend."

She winces, gently cradling the side of her head at the stabbing pain that is shooting through her like a million needles. She desperately wishes to lie down and rest, albeit not in the presence of another unfamiliar magical being. So she holds strong despite her weakened condition. “Where am I?”

“You’re at the DEO. Somewhere safe. We found you stumbling through a portal, and you fainted not long after.” The fae explains, taking her lower lip between her teeth, nursing on it nervously. She closes in on Morgana with tiny tentative steps. “Do you remember anything before all that?”

“Aithusa!” Morgana jolts forward abruptly with a gasp at the sudden thought of her only ally, grimacing immediately at the sting of her wounds, though it doesn’t deter her. She folds a hand over her chest – over her beating heart – clutching tight at the cloth around it. “She… She opened a rift, made me go through it after our escape from Sarrum’s jail, and then... This.”

She drops her gaze and hangs her head, staring down at her battered, albeit freed wrists that have been crusted over with dried blood and grime from the years she had spent chained to the wall of that wretched well.

Having been swept away into an unfamiliar place – and possibly unfamiliar land – she is extremely out of her element, and for a brief moment, she feels like she has gone back to being the maiden she once was, many moons ago.

Young, scared and very alone.

“Don’t worry.” The fae croons quietly, and she can feel her hovering close beside, albeit not quite touching her – something that Morgana is thankful for. She raises her head, her green gaze connecting with blue. “We’ll help you get home. I promise.”

The fae – Kara Zor El – offers her a reassuring smile. And it’s probably the first time in a long, long while since anyone had actually smiled at her so genuinely.

Her mind flashes over to her brother then. The golden boy, with the golden heart. And for a split of a second, she sees his fierce protective spirit reflecting in the eyes of the blonde fae before her, and she feels young again.

Innocent and free.

“What’s your name?”

“My name is Morgana Pendragon.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: im back again with another quick one. yeah, so the chapters of this drabble collection may not go according to chronological order, tho, i'm trying my best to stick to it. hopefully this chapter would help in explaining some things. like for example why do Morgana keep referring to Kara as a fae. it's a little less comedic in this one, and a tad more serious than the other chapters. though, i hope it can double up as the 'morgana reacts to kara using her powers' request. apparently, she doesn't take well to kara using her ice breath. nope, not at all. 
> 
> but anyway, I've read through all and everyone's suggestions and input from the previous chapter and all I can say is – keep em' coming! you'll definitely see most of your suggestions coming to life in the next couple of chapters or so. though, there are a few that I can't actually write up due to it interfering with the coming plot. (yes, surprise surprise. there is a plot to this collection.) e.g. morgana meeting lena. 
> 
> and I suppose that will be all for today, see you guys soon. mucho love. xox.


	6. haute couture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Morgana.”
> 
> “What is it?”
> 
> “Isn’t that bra a little too tight for you?”

Waiting out by the changing room for Morgana is by far, probably the second most nerve-wrecking thing Kara has ever had the delight to sit through in her entire life. The first most being Cat Grant’s intense grilling session when she had first thought her to be Supergirl, of course.

Nothing can possibly trump that.

But though, to be honest this is already cutting it pretty close for her.

Unless, well. If Morgana doesn’t come out within the next five minutes and happens to do something out of the ordinary in the process. Like break all mirrors in the changing room, or set a curtain or two on fire, say for example. Then yes, in which case, this will likely be _the_ most nerve-wrecking thing ever for Kara.

Kara sighs, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot while her knees bounce rhythmically to the thumps of her jittery heart. With that being said, it’s still literally taking her everything to not use her x-ray vision to see through into the confined space of the changing room that Morgana is currently in, solely just to make sure that everything is going okay in there.

Because in the short amount of time she has gotten to know Morgana, one thing’s for certain is that woman has an extremely short fuse.

A short fuse and the powerful ability to wreck chaos without so much of a blink of an eye or a snap of the fingers.

It’s practically a recipe for disaster.

Kara stiffens, her breath hitching in her throat when her sensitive hearing latches on to the tell-tale catch of the lock.

“How is it?” She asks, sitting straight up at attention, her words flowing out of her mouth in a nervous rush before Morgana can even fully step out of the changing room.

The first thing she notices is the frown on the sorceress' face, and then the tautness in her posture, specifically the area around her shoulders.

“I do quite like the shirt and the… um, leather jacket, was it?” Morgana gives said-article of clothing a tentative tug and a quick smooth, craning back to look herself in the mirror.

“But?”

“But this pair of breeches. Sorry, _jeans_.” The sorceress shakes at her head, correcting herself quickly. “They are a little bit too tight for my liking. I find it rather constrictive.”

Kara makes for a musing hum, taking a step back to appraise the woman properly.

Black leather jacket atop a simple white blouse and black jeans and vans. In theory, it’s a great ensemble, really. One that she had thought would have suited the purported dark sorceress well. Especially when paired together with her dark hair and sharp features, it definitely makes her pale green eyes go pop under the light.

Not that Morgana isn’t attractive enough already. She is quite the looker, what with the way heads would frequently turn in her direction even despite being dressed in Kara’s frumpy-looking outfits that are clearly a size too big for her.

But in all, she supposes she had forgotten to factor in Morgana’s preferences when it comes to clothes.

“I guess you’re more of a skirt-and-dress kind of gal, huh.”

Morgana blinks, taking a brief pause in her own self-appraisal in the mirror to look over at Kara perplexedly. It has always taken her a good second or two to properly process the slangs – or so she calls: modern-day speak – that Kara so frequently throws at her without much thought. But it’s good to see that she’s learning and adapting fast.

“I suppose, yes.”

Kara breathes a soft chuckle at that, then promptly hands the sorceress another set of outfit.

“Alright, try this one next. You might like it better.”

As indifferent and aloof as always, Morgana doesn’t so much as smile, merely nodding a quick word of thanks before whisking back into the changing room.

And hence, begins another round of restless waiting.

Another round of nervous foot tapping and nail-biting.

Kara worries on her bottom lip, periodically checking her watch for the time as she tries to distract herself with the very few games she has, installed on her smartphone – courtesy of Winn. And while Candy Crush manages to work its _candilicious_ magic on Kara, briefly transporting her to the land of lollies and delicious treats, it all wears off the second the minute hand hits fifteen on her watch.

Just like clockwork, her stomach begins to twist itself over into uneasy kinks and knots, the familiar gnaw of dread nipping persistently at her heels.

She gets up, gingerly stashes her phone away and starts to pace the narrow length of the small waiting area by the changing rooms, critically surveying the area for any hint of smoke while she fidgets with her fingers.

The door of the changing room is still firmly jammed shut, and after mulling and chewing it over once, twice – maybe thrice – Kara finally comes to a decision. With a breath, she steels herself, and pads her way over to the door with her heart in her throat and stomach in shreds.

And then, she soughs in a deep breath and raises her fist.

After all, it’s always better to be polite and knock, as opposed to simply barging in unannounced.

Panicked thoughts running amok or not, she’s not about to catch Morgana off guard and have a re-run of their very first meeting in that DEO lab all over again.

The last thing Kara needs is to have her ass handed over to her once more.

“Hey, is everything okay in ther–”

Before she can even finish her sentence, the door swings open.

Kara starts, stumbling back a step in surprise, breath catching in her throat.

Because standing there in all of her glory, is Morgana fitted perfectly in a baby blue dress.

“You were right, I do like this much better.” Morgana muses, looking back at the mirror as she does a small twirl with her dress. All in the meanwhile, Kara can only stand, stock-still and jaw slack at the visage before her.

Granted, she has always been aware of Morgana’s beauty. But this is probably the first time it had really struck her so.

It’s probably got to do with how that dress manages to accentuate her curves and hips, its pale blue bringing out the vivid intensity of her eyes, lighting them to this brilliant shade of green.

However, as Kara’s gaze travels past Morgana’s neckline, it is then does she notice how sheer the fabric of the dress is around its top half, so much so that she is able to almost see right through–

Wait.

“Morgana.”

“What is it?”

“Isn’t that bra a little too tight for you?”

“Oh, this brassiere? Yes, it is fairly tight on me.”

She raises a shaky finger, pointing at the very object in question, as her eyes remain fixedly trained onto its target – onto its all-too familiar black lace.

“It’s not… mine by any chance, is it?” Kara swallows, her throat going paper dry for a brief second there as her heart resounds loudly in her ears.

Morgana sighs affectedly, sounding almost exasperated.

“If it’s not yours, whom else can it belong to?”

Well, at least that settles what’s going to be next on their shopping list.

 

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: happy easter everyone! morgana reacting to the various electronics will coming up next, so stay tune! ;)


	7. down the rabbit hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pray tell, how am I supposed to obtain the great knowledge and wisdom of your present time from some silly little box?”
> 
> All Morgana gets is a brief glimpse of a devilish smirk, before the fae reaches in with a quick prod of a button on the contraption.
> 
> “Like this.”

“And so begins your modern-day education program.”

The blonde fae chirrups brightly one evening, her voice ringing shrilly in the air in that ever so animated chime of hers as she pats down on the strange box-like contraption set before Morgana, grinning giddily from ear to ear.

With her golden tresses drawn and pulled back into a pony-tail that swishes about behind her spiritedly, and her chest all puffed up from excitement, she is starting to vaguely resemble one of Morgana’s favourite and most trusted mare from her childhood.

Morning Glory, with her tawny coat and luxurious gold mane; not to the mention her quirky little personality that Morgana had quickly found herself getting enamoured with. She was Morgana’s first ever horse, gifted to her by Uther when she was seven summers old – an age that was deemed suitably ripe enough for riding lessons.

She was nothing short of a gentle beast, albeit one with a lot of zeal and energy, frolicking through the fields with that certain bounce to her trot. Almost a lot like Kara Zor-El, Morgana would think on fondly.

But she digresses.

If anything, the blonde fae looks far more ecstatic than usual, and going by how things would normally play out between them, this could either end off on a spectacular note or in a complete and utter disaster.

In her short time spent in the present future with Kara Zor-El, Morgana has learnt to be wary of occurrences like this – occurrences when the fae would spring something completely out of the ordinary on her.

Then again, everything Morgana has encountered so far has been anything but – ordinary, that is.

She glances askance at the contraption in question, frowning.

“Pray tell, how am I supposed to obtain the great knowledge and wisdom of your present time from some silly little box?”

All Morgana gets is a brief glimpse of a devilish smirk, before the fae reaches in with a quick prod of a button on the contraption.

“Like this.”

Without any preamble, the box lights up, buzzing to life in an explosion of bright colours and sounds, starting Morgana so violently in the process that she had nearly toppled back over with the couch.

If anything, Morgana supposes that it is most fortunate that she had at least the good mind to keep a tight rein on her magic this time around. For her very first instinct was to actually promptly shove and destroy the chattering monstrosity into dust.

And she knows firsthand that Kara Zor-El will not appreciate the sentiment.

She raises a quivering finger to the box, peering at it with a queer sense of fascination and curiosity. She simply cannot believe her eyes.

“By the heavens… This must be some kind of dark ma–”

“It’s not magic,” interjects Kara smoothly, looking fairly smug as she stands, hulking over the contraption with pride.

Morgana frowns, gaining that little notch between her brows as she ponders over the device, thoughts racing wild at the speed of light.

“What is it then? Clearly, it must be some kind of a modern-day jail where you magically shrink down your felons and pack them away into some place as miserable as this silly old…” She gestures vaguely over to the contraption, “ ** _box_**.” She says, for lack of any other better word.

Though, as a stray thought flitters through Morgana’s mind just then, the rarest of smiles curls at her lips. “That may not be a bad idea actually,” hums the sorceress musingly, looking almost excited now. “In fact, I’d even go as far as to say it’s a brilliant idea, indeed.”

Just thinking about the possibility of being able to throw her dear brother, Arthur, into some ratty little makeshift prison such as the one in front of her, and watch him scamper across the various hell-scape of her choosing, is almost enough to bring joy to Morgana’s cold, dead heart.

Almost.

“Of course, only **_you_** would think it’s a magical jail,” snorts Kara, as undignified as the uncultured maiden that she is. “It’s not.”

Morgana sighs ever so affectedly, shoulders sagging. “Pity,” she mutters, and she honestly has never been more disappointed.

“On the contrary, this baby is actually used for entertainment purposes,” Kara explains, once more patting the not-a-magical-jail with a proud toothy grin.

“Do enlighten me then. Just what can be so entertaining about watching a couple of shrunken people scurry about haplessly in the most banal of ways in some transparent box?”

“Okay, first of all, this is called the television – or TV as for how we usually call it. Not a box. And no, we do not shrink those people down and squeeze them all into the TV. What you see right now, is not exactly...”

“Not real?” Morgana murmurs pensively, steering her gaze back onto the box – no, TV. She smoothens a thumb along the display of the device, putting her face up close to it, trying to make sense of what she’s seeing.

Inside the TV is what appears to be a complete replica of the existing world outside of the fae’s hovel of an apartment. A prison of marble-like buildings towering over the hordes of people, with the trumpets of those unruly metallic beasts – cars, as they are commonly referred to – blaring away in that loud obnoxious way they so often do that hurts Morgana’s ears. And right there, standing in the middle of it all is a man – tall, with his dark mop of hair slicked back, face cleanly shaven and clothes pristine – staring straight at Morgana.

_‘I’m currently down by East Street where earlier ago, local superhero, Supergirl, had valiantly swopped in to save hundreds from a hostile alien attack. Behind me is the aftermath–‘_

“But he’s talking to me.”

“He’s talking to everyone, Morgana. It’s all about the camera angles and how he’s looking directly into the lens.”

“Camera? Lens?”

Kara sighs quietly and shakes her head, looking almost borderline exasperated with her. She brushes Morgana’s questions off with a vague wave of the hand. “Let me rephrase that. Okay, yes. Those people are real in a sense they do exist in real life and all. They just don’t happen to live inside the TV. It’s sort of like having your…”

The fae flounders for a moment. And it’s a peculiar thing, really. The way she does it with her hands, and with her feet; pacing the short length of the space before her as if her thoughts do not just pertain to the boundaries of her mind, but her entire body as well.

She looks to Morgana helplessly, then sighs vexedly, albeit mumbling incoherently to herself – in sentences strung with all sorts of modern day colloquialism that Morgana can’t quite keep up despite herself. If she doesn’t know any better she would have thought the fae to be speaking in tongues.

But alas, she does.

Considering Kara has quite the annoying habit of speaking out loud when she thinks.

“Dang it, what is the medieval equivalent of having a _selfie_ taken again? Hmm… Oh, yes, portrait!” She brings her hands together in a deafening clap, her countenance lighting up with a cheerful grin. “Right, I’m sure you’ve had your portrait drawn or painted before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have,” frowns Morgana, lips pulling tight and eyes growing dark with the memories of her past clouding her mind’s eye. “During my time as the King’s ward.” She supplies, her fingers clenching almost instinctively, digging into the palms of her hands – thin red crescents bleeding into the fair pallor of her skin.

She can still remember the day Uther had called for their portrait to be painted as clear as day. The way the sun had warmed her skin as they stood stoically by the window in their best clothes, the regal Pendragon coat of arm as their backdrop. The mischievous glint in the blue of Arthur’s eyes when he subtly reached over to tickle Morgana on her side, forcing her to break character through peals of laughter. Of how she had repaid the favour by stomping hard on his toes, earning herself a loud yelp in return.

It was a memory of better days.

Days that have been long forgotten, all for good reason.

Because just beyond it all, Morgana can almost feel it.

The rising thrum of that familiar, **_familiar_** anger simmering just beneath her skin at the mere thought of her once-friends.

 ** _Family_** who had turned on her.

Left her in a ditch when she had needed them the most.

Betrayed her.

At the slightest rattle of glassware on the table-top, Morgana swiftly snaps out of her thoughts, catching herself as she regains her poise with a breath. She veers her attention back onto the people scampering about in the TV, choosing to ignore the odd, curious look that the blonde fae is giving her at the moment.

“What of it?” She prompts, voice an eerily controlled calm.

“Oh, um, right!” Zor-El startles back to attention, blinking rapidly when Morgana glances back at her pointedly, as if that brief lapse in her magic had not even happened in the first place. “Yes, so what you see on the TV right here, is like a moving portrait, if it makes any sense.”

Morgana scrunches her brows in perplexity, glancing between the TV and the fae. “A moving portrait,” she says slowly, looking to Kara sceptically. “A moving portrait.” She repeats, a little louder, barely bordering on an exclamation as she frowns deeply at the… TV.

“Yes, though in the future, we actually call it a video.”

“Even with magic, you do know that **_this_** is essentially impossible to re-create, right?”

“Well apparently, there’s nothing modern day technology can’t do.” Kara Zor-El flashes her a winning grin, then gestures over to the TV with a flourish. “Welcome to the future.”

Morgana sighs, pinching resignedly at the bridge of her nose. She is not even going to bother with the mechanism of the device this time around. The last time she tried, the fae had broken out into a long endless blather of an explanation that literally went nowhere and had ended up with Morgana being even more confused than she was before.

“I’m really starting to wonder if magic even exists in your world.”

“Oh, I assure you it does. It’s probably not as prevalent in this time than yours, but there are a few accomplished magic-users out there that I know of.”

“Magic-users.” Morgana latches on to that, bristling sharply, eyes narrowing. “By that, I take it that you’re referring to warlocks, witches, and the likes.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” shrugs Kara noncommittally – unassumingly.

Morgana stiffens. “Pray tell,” she begins slowly, quietly, nostrils flaring and green eyes blazing with pure unadulterated rage. “Does the name _Emrys_ ring any bell to you?” She all but nearly seethes at the mention of that wretched, **_cursed_** name.

Oh, the way it twists and curls at her tongue like acrid bile. It makes her want to retch.

All around them, the furniture quivers, the various décor and glassware clattering against their respective surfaces, trembling under the power and rage of the last High Priestess of the Old Religion.

All the while as the blonde fae looks on uneasily at their quaking surroundings, helpless to all that is happening.

“No,” Kara swallows. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

As suddenly as it all begins, the trembling ceases all at once. In its wake, a blanket of extreme stillness hangs thickly in the air.

For a long while, no one speaks.

No one breathes.

The only sound in the room is the low drone of voices coming from the people in the TV, blissfully ignorant and oblivious to the crisis that had been so narrowly avoided.

Morgana releases a shaky breath then, and swallows, raking a wobbly finger through her dark curls. “Good,” she says, trying hard to regain some sense of that stone-cold composure of hers once more. She slumps back limply into the couch, laughing breathily, looking the slightest bit crazed. Hysterical. “That’s good.”

Immortality is so often a common trait to those who have magic running through their veins. It’s innate of them to live out long lives, depending on the potency of the magic imbued them. And if Kara Zor-El does not happen to recognise that **_name_** , it can only mean one thing.

That Emrys – her one true greatest enemy – must not have been as powerful as they all claim to say.

For the fact that he has already ceased to exist by this time and age.

It almost makes Morgana want to gloat.

Who’s having the last laugh now?

A sudden shift of movement catches her attention.

“What is it?” She tips her chin up questioningly over to the staring blonde who still looks a tad bit shaken up, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt.

“Nothing!” Kara starts, reeling back a little too quickly that she nearly bumps into the furnishing behind her. She fumbles forward with a stumble. “You, uh… You just had a look in your eye just then,” she coughs awkwardly, movements unusually ungainly and clumsy. “But I’m sure it’s nothing,” she brushes it off hastily with a shrug and a nervous chuckle, though the glint in those baby blues seems to suggest otherwise.

Morgana makes for a low dismissive hum, regarding the fae with ever so much of her usual careless disinterest and indifference before turning back to the TV box. “So am I supposed to stare into the void of this… TV for wisdom to come knocking?”

And that somehow manages to kickstart the fae into action, where she disappears with a blur, emerging back in a split of a second with a sunny grin and some kind of an odd modern apparatus of sorts in her hands.

“I hope you’re up for some Mean Girls and Legally Blonde.”

Just like that, all that crackling excitement from before is back at full force as Kara slots herself enthusiastically into the spot beside Morgana. A tight fit, as it is, considering the size of the couch they were lounging on, made worse by the wiggling of the fae beside her.

But Morgana supposes it will have to do for now.

“Come on then, enlighten me.”

Little would Morgana know that it is words that she will soon come to regret as the fae smashes down on one of the colourful buttons on the new apparatus at hand, and the TV cuts off away into an entirely new setting.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: sorry this chap took so long, really wanted to post this up sooner but alas, life is a bitch. anyway, thanks for all the kudos and comments in the last chapter. oh and also, special thanks to DrakePendragon for the TV prompt! sorry if this ended up being a little darker than intended, i just felt the need to flesh Morgana out a little more. so yep. see u guys soon! xx


	8. unleash the kraken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The hell did you just do?”
> 
> “I missed.” Morgana all but snarks, wrinkling her nose in her usual show of disdain.
> 
> “Y-you,” Kara blinks, gaping and gesturing wildly to whatever that is left of her decorative side table by her lounge. “You just practically incinerated my side-table.” She glances back at the dark sorceress, aghast and completely shell-shocked. “Into ash.”

“For the love of the gods above, Kara. Turn that sodding ****_thing_**** off!”

Kara starts, breath hitching as the bundle of blanket on the bed lurches with a heave and a creak, revealing a messy mop of dark hair and a very, ****_very_**** angry Morgana.

She slowly glances down at the device at hand, then back up at the incensed dark sorceress in her bed, albeit with a dazed, bemused look. The vacuum she has is practically one of the silent models, albeit one that is off the cheaper end of the spectrum. It might not be as completely silent as advertised, but at least it doesn’t hurt her sensitive Kryptonian ears as bad as the usual normal ones. And – it does the job well.

However, it would seem that Morgana doesn’t share the same sentiments.

“I said,” the sorceress breathes – seethes right through her teeth. She shifts, sitting herself a little more upright on the bed, blanket draped over her shoulders like a flowing cape. “Turn it off. Or I’ll gladly do it for you.” Her words are chewed into short succinct phrases, her lips pursed thinly in deep-set frown that borders on a snarl while her dark green eyes glimmer with just the hint of a thinly-veiled warning.

Though amidst all of that, Kara can only stop and stare; amused by how even just upon awakening, Morgana can somehow manage to pull off looking all regal and dignified by just sitting there on the bed, with her hair mildly askew and face still puffy from sleep, looking pretty as always with that sort of ageless beauty that sends heads turning.

Eyes narrowing at the lack of action on Kara’s part, Morgana then decides to take matters into her own hands. With a scowl, she shrugs the layers of blanket off her shoulders in one swift movement and raises her hand in the direction of the vacuum cleaner that Kara still has running in the background.

“ _Ahyoan oone as_ –” Catching the tell-tale shade of gold and magic flashing through the sorceress’ eyes, it is right about then does Kara finally snaps out of her inattention and fumbles for the button to turn her vacuum off. “– _scunung_.”

Albeit, a second too late.

In a last-ditch effort to save her vacuum from its potentially doomed fate, she speeds over to the opposite end of the room in a streak of blur, shielding the contraption with her back, lest the event of an explosion or fire breaking out in the middle of her apartment – which is a very real and likely possibility.

But all Kara hears is the loud deafening shatter of glass across her floorboard, followed by sheer silence.

Steeling herself, she chances a glance over her shoulder.

“The hell did you just do?”

“I missed.” Morgana all but snarks, wrinkling her nose in her usual show of disdain.

“Y-you,” Kara blinks, gaping and gesturing wildly to whatever that is left of her decorative side table by her lounge. “You practically just incinerated my side-table.” She glances back at the dark sorceress, aghast and completely shell-shocked. “Into ash.”

“I said I missed,” answers Morgana curtly, looking none too concerned over the pile of ash lying by the shattered pieces of Kara’s broken lamp. Her attention remains riveted on the vacuum. “I was aiming for that.” She raises her hand in that same threatening gesture that sends Kara into a flurry as she flies right over to stop her right there.

“Please don’t,” she implores, gripping at the sorceress’ wrist in a firm but gentle grasp. “It’s already switched off.”

Up close like this, Kara can almost make out the vaguest of shadows hanging beneath her eyes – the dark rings of an insomniac – and she stows this information away into the back of her mind to review again at a later date.

At least now she knows why Morgana isn’t so much of a morning person.

The defiant glint in the sorceress' eyes finally lets up, albeit slightly. She yanks her hand away and out of Kara’s hold. “Don’t touch me,” she mutters morosely with a scowl.

Kara relents, taking a step out of her personal space with an awkward shuffle and an abashed cough, cheeks heating up to light pink.

“What in the heavens is that monstrosity anyway? A mini car?”

Kara turns to look over her shoulder, tracing the line of Morgana’s sight. “Oh, that’s called the vacuum. We use it to clean around the house since it can suck up the dust and dirt off the ground quite easily.”

Morgana sends her a flat, unimpressed look.

“That’s it?”

“Um, yeah.”

The sorceress rolls her eyes, huffing exasperatedly. “Can’t you just use the broom like your everyday crowd?”

“But the vacuum does the job faster.” Kara counters. “Besides, hardly anyone uses the broom anymore.”

Morgana throws Kara a withering glance, then sighs. Deeply. “Put that thing away,” she says, albeit lacking that usual bite to her voice. She looks far more tired – way more exhausted than Kara has ever seen her so far.

“What?”

“I said put that vacuum thing away.” She grouses, brows furrowing with impatience and that’s certainly enough to get Kara moving.

Ever so resignedly, Kara unearths the broom and its accompanying dustpan that has been left untouched for months on end in the storage cabinet she has in the kitchen, laying it out in the middle her apartment. Might as well just start cleaning up the anyway, she thinks vexedly.

“Step aside,” Morgana orders curtly.

Kara blinks, perplexed, albeit still remaining rooted to the spot, hands gripping the long end of the broom and dustpan.

“Wh-what?”

“Do not make me repeat myself.” Morgana’s gaze narrows ever so sharply, and that’s all the warning Kara needs to make herself scarce.

With a weary exhale, Morgana pitches her hand up and aims it towards the broom, muttering quietly her breath. “ _Gegnum mid meox_.”

Eyes lighting up to its signature gold with the whisper of her spell lingering in the air, for a while there is only silence.

And then, ever so tentatively, the broom picks itself up, hovering off the ground as it begins to sweep itself across the floorboards, all in the meanwhile Kara is left, gaping – wide-eyed and jaw slack.

“Did you just–”

“Enchant the broom to sweep, as it’s meant to do? Yes. So be a dear and get rid of that dreaded thing you call a vacuum,” Morgana grimaces, face pinching in derision as she waves Kara off airily before dropping herself back into the soft cradle of Kara’s bed without so much of a second glance.

All the while, Kara can only flounder, gawking at the peculiar spectacle before her, still trying to wrap her head around this whole… ****_thing_****.

From her incinerated side-table to her broken lamp – to the magical broom and dustpan waltzing across her apartment.

“What the heck.”

Needless to say, that is the last time she will be using the vacuum in Morgana’s presence ever again.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: back again with this short one to make up for the long delay between updates in the last one. yeap, i know people have been asking about a possible lena/morgana meeting and um. how am i supposed to go about this without giving away too much. cus of the plot (gasp, i know. for a crack fic, there's actually a plot to this lol.) it's not exactly going to happen. tho, in saying that. i can assure you that lena is going to make her appearance eventually. so yep. y'all just have to read on to find out, haha.
> 
> also, special shoutout and thanks to S_Nebulosa for requesting to see Morgana react to a vacuum, amongst many other prompts, of which i'm still working on ;P. and a huge thanks for all the kudos and comments in the last chap, i'll see you guys soon! xx


	9. a moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m an alien, remember? Or a fae, whichever goes. I don’t belong here either,” she says, and with perhaps a hint of sadness, she adds, “but unlike you, who still have a shot at going home, I don’t.”

Everyday since her timely arrival to the future, Morgana has been dropping by _this_ … clandestine building of sorts, formally referred to as the Department of Extranormal Operations. Or DEO for short – as she has been told constantly. (Modern day culture and their queer need to abbreviate everything.)

And everyday, for the past sennight, she has been watching the labourers – No, ****_agents_****. She has to remind herself that the future pride themselves on fanciful titles – of this peculiar congregate go at it with trying to re-create the portal that had ultimately brought her into this realm.

It’s nothing as exciting as she had expected it to be.

Just a bunch of stoic-faced men and women, all dressed down in the same pitch-black of a funeral robe, tapping away behind some screen with numbers scrawled all over across. A computer, Morgana knows that much at least. No thanks to Kara and her nightly ‘modern-day educational program’ with the TV box.

Every so often, she’d get down and dirty, pitching in with a spell or two, in hopes that maybe a magical touch would do the trick. But it has never worked thus far, much to her utter disappointment.

The closest breakthrough they have gotten so far is mere wink of… ****_something_**** that barely lasted for a split of second, and then nothing. The agents all thought it was something to be celebrated for. A breakthrough is still a breakthrough, they had all cheer. But in Morgana’s eyes, a failure is still nothing but a failure, and the sting of it only disheartens her all the more.

Needless to say, they have never been quite able to replicate the occurrence again.

“You seem down.”

Morgana starts, raising her head slowly as she blinks herself out of her thoughts.

Standing no more than an arm’s length away from her is the same blonde fae she has been co-habiting with for the past couple of days. Except that she’s in that bizarre garish blue-red garbs that she so frequently dons for whatever reasons Morgana does not want to know.

“You look ridiculous.” She remarks flatly, looking pointedly to the flowing red cape billowing behind the fae with a scrunch of disdain. It vaguely reminds her of those pesky little knights of Camelot, albeit not in a good way.

“I know,” shrugs Kara airily, laughter in her eyes and an ever good-natured smile on her lips. “You never fail to remind each time I’m in my super suit.”

Morgana only sighs, rolling her eyes before looking over to regard her stonily.

She looks none too different than how she normally is back at their quarters. But undeniably, there’s still just something – ****_something_**** – different to her that Morgana can’t quite put a finger to. Perhaps it’s the way her golden tresses are free off its usual restraint, bouncing carelessly off her shoulders in loose ringlets, or the way her blue eyes are sparkling ever so brightly, its shine uninhibited by the lack of frames perched on her nose.

Or how she carries herself, back straight, shoulders squared and arms crossed over her being that suggests power and confidence.

Yes, that must be it.

 ** ** _Confidence_**** – to which Morgana would have to admit, she wears rather fetchingly.

“So what’s gotten you all down and blue today?”

“Oh, would you like to know?” Morgana scowls, snapping sharply at the fae despite it not being her intention, and she nearly feels sorry for doing so.

Nearly.

Kara shrugs again, looking not at all too affected by Morgana’s unexpected volatility. “Well, I mean we’re technically living under the same roof now. Better to get it off your chest now than blow a fuse and end up torching the TV into ash or something, y’know?”

Inwardly, Morgana knows that the fae had meant her no harm nor ill-intent in saying all of that. It’s her manner of speaking – her approach to humour, albeit in a rather tongue-in-cheek, ironic kind of way. It usually starts with a jibe here, followed by a tease there. But Morgana knows it’s always done in all good-nature fun. (As annoying as it is at times.)

But today…

Today that teasing jibe of hers had sounded far more like a personal attack to Morgana’s ears, and before she can even stop herself, she’s already lashing out.

“I bet you would love it if you could get me out of your hair, wouldn’t you?” Morgana hisses heatedly, teeth gnashing and lips twisting into a snarl.

The fae starts, looking rather surprised – alarmed – at Morgana’s sudden burst of anger. She raises her hands in a slow, placating gesture, frowning. “Come on, you know I don’t mean that.”

Though, instead of soothing Morgana, the gesture only seems to enrage her further.

“Oh, of course you do!” She blusters on, incensed, eyes flashing like the tumultuous grey of a raging ocean. “I’ve been leeching off of you, eating your food and destroying your little hovel. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m stuck, just as you are – with me. And even if I do want to leave, I jolly well can’t!”

It is only upon catching the lingering ring of her voice reverberating through the relatively empty break room – sans for the both of them – that Morgana then realises she must have subconsciously raised her voice. Though, even then, the evidence is in the heat, scalding her chest; the residual burn of her words, searing through her lungs in short heaves.

“Is this what this is all about?” Kara says quietly, almost indulgently, after a beat.

The entire time, she had merely watched Morgana calmly – measuredly.

And now, looking up into her awfully blue eyes, Morgana thinks that there might be a hint of sympathy behind her gaze.

Suddenly, she feels silly for her outburst.

Foolish even.

She can’t believe she had let her insecurities and doubt get the better of her.

Abashed, she hangs her head sullenly in lieu of a reply.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Kara continues on, again in that quiet waft of a voice. Ever so gentle – so patient.

She takes a step in towards Morgana, and tentatively raises her hand, as if to lay a touch on her shoulder, but hesitates at the very last second – her hand hovering awkwardly in the air.

Morgana watches all this from the corner of her eye, and she hopes that she would forgo the action all together. But alas, the moment passes and with a breath, the fae presses into Morgana’s shoulder, squeezing at her firmly.

At first contact, her touch comes almost like a shock to Morgana – even despite having seen it coming from a mile away. An electrifying jolt, it rattles her right down to her bones and she nearly catches her breath. It’s not unpleasant, per se, but it still feels like she has been struck, the way in which it steals the air right off from her lungs.

Just how long has it been since the last time she has been touched with such kindness – warmth and gentleness.

“We ****_will_**** get you back home to Camelot,” Kara says, voice ringing true and clear. “We will.” She pledges solemnly, the grip on Morgana’s shoulder tightens ever much so. “I’ll do everything in my power to see it happen.”

Morgana chuffs a dry and mirthless chuckle. “And if I end up being trapped here forever?”

She dares not look up.

For a small part of her fears that she might end up seeing the visage of her dear half-brother standing before her. Golden hair, blue eyes, warm smiles and all.

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to get another bed.” The fae says, softly, and even then Morgana can still hear the careless shrug in her voice – that airy smile tugging on one end her lips.

She frowns, glancing up into clear baby blues.

“What does it matter to you anyway?” She asks, perplexed, searching those blue glittering depths. “I am no more than just a stranger to you. Someone right off the streets. I don’t mean anything to you and neither do you – to me. Yet, you still you took me in, showered me with all this kindness. So let me ask you this one question: what is in it for you?”

The blonde fae’s resulting response is only a wan smile. She gingerly draws her hand away with a sigh as she lounges back against the edge of the counter in the DEO break room.

“I’m an alien, remember? Or a _fae,_ which ever goes. I don’t belong here either,” she says, and with perhaps a hint of sadness, she adds, “but unlike you, who still have a shot at going home, I don’t.”

“What do you mean you don’t? Surely, you can find a way back somehow.”

The fae shakes her head forlornly, a rueful smile curling at her lips. “My planet – my world – is long gone. I watched it die in a burst of flames before my very eyes when I was thirteen.” She swallows, eyes growing wistful – tearful even. “I’ve been here ever since.”

She had looked so heartbroken then, it nearly moved Morgana. So much so that she had almost reached out towards her with a twitch of a finger, but had ultimately thought better of it at the last second as she allows her hand to slip surreptitiously back to her side.

“I’m sorry,” she chooses to say instead.

“Don’t be.” Kara says, with a feeble smile. Though, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s all in the past, anyway.”

For the first time as Morgana regards her, she finds herself looking at Kara Zor El – without the usual exasperation. Without the occasional disdain. Just looking at her, simply – plainly. Albeit, in a brand new light.

And all sees is a young maiden with a pure heart and a pure soul, living under the shadows of her broken world.

“I suppose you can say that’s what is in it for me,” Kara says, meeting Morgana’s gaze. She looks a little bit more like herself now – eyes soft, so full of light.

“My own selfish desire to see that you be able to accomplish something I can’t.”

\\\

That very night as they were going through their usual routine right before turning in for the day, Morgana finally makes up her mind.

“Come up here.”

Kara stops short there and then. She has already laid out the sheets on her tiny little couch.

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

Morgana sighs deeply, and it takes about everything for her to not reach for her temples. “Grab your things and get on over here. This is your bed too, is it not? It might be a tight squeeze, but I reckon it’s still big enough for the two of us.”

“But–”

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

Kara gulps audibly and immediately fumbles at her sheets and pillows without question. With all her essentials gathered up into her arms, she shuffles over to the foot of the bed, then hesitates for the longest of moments, toeing at the floorboard there.

“Go on then, I’m not going to bite.”

“R-right,” coughs Kara awkwardly, sounding almost sheepish, embarrassed. It makes Morgana rolls her eyes with a sigh.

And finally, ever so gingerly, she slips into the spot beside Morgana.

Having found it in herself to be kind for once, Morgana decides to make this all the less painful and awkward for the blonde fae, by rolling over onto her side, turning her back on her as she wordlessly draws the covers up and over themselves while Kara reaches to turn off the light.

She is right about it being a tight fit.

Even despite lying on the far end on each side of the bed, they are still lying so close to one another; their backs almost touching, barely a hair’s breadth apart from each other.

“Goodnight, Morgana,” murmurs Kara quietly.

After a long beat, as the quiet breathing beside her finally evens out into soft snores, Morgana whispers into the dark of the night

_“Goodnight, Kara.”_

_\\\_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: so here we go with a slightly long, serious chap. and this is where morgana finally starts to warm up to kara. thank god. i was actually debating on doing another light and fluffy chap, but eh, this just had to be done.
> 
> but yep, thank you all for the kudos/comments in the previous chapter. and all of the wonderful ideas/prompts too! i have a fairly long list to cover, but i'm pretty sure i still have space for more. so feel free to drop in a prompt or two, and who knows we might just see it happen next. ;)


	10. i scream, you scream, we all scream for-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just how many flavours are there?” She asks, currently alternating between scoops from each tub.
> 
> “A lot. As many as you can think of.” Kara says, with a musing hum.
> 
> Morgana stops short then, turning to stare Kara dead in the eye. “I want to try them all.” She says, in all seriousness, looking almost wild – feral. Frenzied even.

“Brace yourself.”

Is all the warning that Kara provides before glancing over to their slices of plain bread sitting innocuously over a pan atop the stove – all for precaution’s sake – with the singular focus that comes with the burn of her heat vision.

 _Just a touch and go,_ she tells herself constantly, reciting it like a mantra. _Don’t over do it._

_Do not over do it._

But upon glancing down at the brown charred toast, with the all too familiar smell of smoke and all burnt things teasing her nostrils, Kara had only sighed in glum defeat.

She had over done it.

Peering over at Morgana who has been watching her this whole entire time, she flashes her an apologetic smile, looking a tad embarrassed – abashed. “I’ll get it right the second time, promise.”

But before she can even move to retrieve herself a good couple of new slices of bread, the voice of Morgana cutting through the air had stopped her short then.

“No need.” Comes her surprisingly breezy reply as Kara flinches despite herself, half-expecting to be hit by some sardonic remark or a cutting comment.

But it never did come.

She watches as the sorceress, crosses the short distance between the dining table and the stove, effortlessly slipping the burnt toasts off onto a plate.

“Beggars can’t be choosers after all,” Morgana all but sighs, bearing no contempt or heat in her voice – merely quiet resignation. Silently, she lays the table out with the burnt toasts and slides herself back into her seat with all the grace of a royalty. When Kara had made no action of moving from her spot by the stove, she then glances up at her expectantly, pointedly gesturing to the toasts on their plates. “Let’s eat.”

Blinking herself out of her minor stupor, Kara finally flounders her way over to her seat across from Morgana. And as she sits herself down gingerly, she chances a tentative glance up at her, albeit with a tinge of wariness, unsure of what to expect from this whole new… development between them.

Ever since the events from a couple nights before – what with the unexpected offer to share the bed, something Kara did not believe would ever happen – Morgana has been noticeably… _different…_ in her treatment towards her.

Like she has gotten softer – albeit somewhat from steel to rock. Though, in saying that, she is still very much all bark and bite, not that Kara would ever go about testing her boundaries. Because _Rao_ knows that Morgana is probably more than capable enough with her magic to split the earth wide open with a snap of her fingertips – much less break Kara’s neck. (She still cherishes the thought of living, thank you very much.)

Her gaze flickers from the completely burnt toast on her plate, to the way Morgana ever so nonchalantly reaches for the butter, spreading a thin layer of it across the charred crust before taking a dainty bite off her toast without so much of a cringe or a scrunch of her usual disdain.

Kara frowns, hesitantly returning her gaze back to her plate when the faint glimmer of blackened silver catches her eye.

Right there, on the counter by the fridge; lying in a discoloured pile of singed metal is what’s left of her toaster. _Once-toaster_ , Kara corrects – the reason for their unorthodox method of having toast this very morning.

It had all first began when Kara had awoken to a flurry of activity in her apartment. The frantic scurry of footsteps shuffling across the floorboards. The rustle of fabric and clinking of plates – utensils – in the kitchen. Surely, all that would have been enough to raise a series of red flags. But with the heavy haze of sleep addling her mind, she had chosen to ignore it.

That was until her sensitive ears had picked up on the fervent muttering of a language, so old and ancient, it sounded like nothing Kara has ever heard before on Earth. She had been right about to brush it off and fall back into another dreamless sleep when it had clicked to her then that she had heard something similar rolling off Morgana’s tongue that one… odd time.

Alert and very awake, she had instantaneously leaped out of bed and bounded over to the source of growing activity as quick as she could.

But by then, it was already too late.

 

* * *

 

_(She turned over to Morgana, gaping and stuttering, baffled by the mini explosion of sparks and scorched metal everywhere. In any other circumstances, Kara would have thought the display to be amazing – pretty even. But when it happened to be her only toaster in her apartment, she can only bemoan its loss._

_“I was trying to make breakfast.” Was Morgana’s defense, sounding petulant as always. Though, with her averted eyes and pursed lips, she had almost looked embarrassed there and then. “But it wouldn’t pop up like it normally would.”_

_“It’s not plugged in,” answered Kara absently, as she fingered the broken pieces of metal forlornly._

_At least Morgana didn’t somehow incinerate it all into ash. Inwardly, she wondered if there was a way she could get Winn to fix this. Though, from the way it all seemed to crumble apart at the slightest touch, it seemed unlikely._

_“Oh,” Morgana said. It may be a reach, but as simple and succinct her response was, Kara could almost hear the makings of an apology in that one syllable, and it surprised her somewhat._

_Because right up until then, she had never once shown a single ounce of remorse for the damaged and inconvenience she had caused. It was just that, whenever it came to Morgana, it was as if everything was a given. Like whatever she had done, she could do no wrong, was what it had felt like to Kara._

_And the fact that she had even sounded the least bit sorry then, Kara couldn’t find it in herself to believe her ears._

_But her surprise didn’t exactly end there, sifting through the remnants of her demolished toaster, she had found what appeared to be four pieces of toast – all of which had been charred a complete dusty black – wedged and squashed between the remains of the toaster’s bread rack._

_Had Morgana intended to make Kara a portion of breakfast as well?_

_It did seem to be the case, considering that Morgana was what Kara had known to be a small eater, and would only have a toast or two for breakfast. But she’d honestly doubt Morgana would ever admit it up front when confronted; knowing her to be too prideful to do anything of that sort._

_But still, it was touching of her to think of Kara – even in the slightest._

_Bearing an almost gleeful smile to herself, Kara exhaled deeply – with a tinge of finality – and turned back around at Morgana with a grin, spirits renewed._

_“I suppose there’s only one way left to go about doing this.”)_

 

* * *

 

Kara’s first crunch down onto her burnt toast instantly sends her reeling, and it literally takes her every ounce of self-control to simply swallow down her first mouthful and to not regurgitate it out back onto her plate.

It is every bit as vile as it looks – a mix of acridity and extreme bitterness. Not even the thick coat of butter over it can help stamp out the taste of soot as it lingers on in her mouth, coating the entirety of her tongue.

Unable to help herself, Kara blindly grapples for her glass of orange juice, washing it all down with one enthusiastic gulp.

“That is disgusting,” she breathes, grimacing. She glances over at Morgana, who’s been nibbling delicately at her piece of burnt toast – the very picture of calm – looking none too put off nor affected by its taste as compared to Kara. “How in _Rao’s_ name are you still eating ****_that_****?”

“I’ve had worse,” Morgana supplies quietly, gaze briefly flickering to meet Kara’s before she hangs her head once more to look down at some random speck on the table, chewing and swallowing slowly – silently.

All this time, the glass of juice on her side of her table has remained untouched.

Kara frowns at this – this whole lack of reaction and response on Morgana’s part. Usually, by this time, she would have had her ego bruised twice, maybe thrice over, by some callous jibe of hers. But so far, Morgana has been nothing but quiet and awfully mellow. So much so that it’s rather off-putting.

Granted, while her face is still that expressionless mask of indifference, there’s just something about the away the silence hangs over her that makes her seem sad. Wistful.

Kara sighs, thinking back to their talk the other day.

Morgana might not be quite the talker, but even then, Kara thinks she knows her well enough to tell when she’s down in the dumps – strange nice-ness aside.

Being stuck in a foreign land all by herself like this, her fate uncertain and her means of getting back still very much in the works, albeit barely. Kara wouldn’t put it beyond her to feel home-sick.

There’s no place like home after all, as Kara should know better.

With a breath and her mind all made up, Kara pushes away from the dining table with much purpose, and stands, quite abruptly so, such that her chair screeches noisily beneath her, garnering Morgana’s attention.

“What are you doing?”

“Making things better.”

Effortlessly, she clears the table off of its contents in a blink of an eye, then super-speeds over to her fridge and whips out her large tub of ice-cream, albeit not without swiping the bar of chocolate off her pantry on the way back.

She sets her procured items down onto the now empty table (re: the burnt toasts will not be missed) with a pointed _thunk_ and a gleefully large grin. “I don’t care what Alex says or thinks, we’re going to have ice-cream and chocolate for breakfast.”

“Oh!” Upon recognition of the foodstuffs on the table, Morgana perks up almost immediately, eyes lighting back up to its usual shade of vivid green. “I know this,” she says, picking up the tub of ice-cream. “The people in the TV box were eating this just the other day. Made it seem so…” She flips the tub over, reading the contents scrawled across its back, “delicious.”

“Ice-cream and chocolate are food for the heart,” Kara says, smiling good-naturedly at Morgana. She passes a spoon over to her and splits the chocolate wrapper apart. “They chase the blues away.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Chasing the blues away.”

“It means,” Kara takes the lid of the ice-cream tub off with a decisive pop and grins, large and toothy. “It brings you happiness.”

Morgana’s resulting response is a long measured silence. One that is spent, staring pensively down at the swirl of colours in the tub before her.

“I haven’t been happy in a long time,” she admits quietly, voice the barest of whispers; so thin and ghostlike, it would have been lost to the fleeting breeze if Kara hadn’t been paying attention.

Unable to resist her inner calling to help and soothe those in distress, Kara raises a hand towards the dark sorceress instinctively, all in a gesture to comfort; and as if suddenly remembering Morgana had her aversion to human contact, she hesitates. But seeing as she is at the moment, morose and so very downhearted, Kara just can’t stop herself.

She presses in with a firm, but warm touch over Morgana’s forearm.

All at once, Morgana stiffens sharply, hackles rising. However, in spite of everything, she doesn’t pull away, merely staying rooted to where she is – unmoving and tensed. Which – as things are – is clearly a good sign.

Though, Kara is starting to think that she may not be as opposed to being touch, more so than being unused to the gesture is all, and she stashes that information away for a later day.

“Here, have a taste of happiness,” she urges her on with a grin and a gentle squeeze of her arm, making to draw away, which does the trick in snapping the sorceress out of her rigidity.

Morgana blinks, looking over to the tub of ice-cream, then back to Kara’s smiling face, perplexity colouring her features.

“It’s cold,” she states flatly.

“Um, yeah?”

“So go on then.”

“Go on with what?”

Morgana sighs, almost affectedly. And there it is. That trademark waspishness of hers that Kara has never thought she would actually miss.

“Stuff it in that little box thing that heats food up in seconds like you always do.”

“You mean the microwave.” Kara corrects amusedly.

“Yes, that. Or do I have to do it myself–”

“No!” Kara interjects heatedly, panic rising through her when Morgana starts to roll back the sleeves of her button-down shirt.

She throws Kara an odd look, but acquiesces anyway, settling back down into her chair petulantly.

“It’s called ****_ice_**** -cream for a good reason, Morgana,” says Kara, patiently, albeit with thinly veiled amusement as she tries to school her face together, lest she somehow ends up offending the sorceress. “You’re meant to eat it chilled, straight out of the freezer.”

“ ** ** _Chilled_****.” Morgana says, aghast, her voice rising slightly in cadence as she now glances apprehensively at the tub of ice-cream that is held towards her. Kara nods encouragingly. “I’m positively sure that those people in the TV did not take it ‘straight out of the freezer’ as you so kindly put it.”

“Just because they don’t show it on TV, doesn’t mean they did, Morgana.”

At that, the sorceress finally seems to concede, albeit still eyeing the offending tub of ice-cream in askance when Kara gently urges it into her hands. She picks up her spoon hesitantly, and digs herself a meagre spoonful of the dessert before daintily raising it to her lips, all the while as Kara watches on expectantly.

Her reaction is almost instantaneous – green eyes widening, her face lighting up with the same radiance of a child experiencing their very first lollipop. (Which technically, isn’t too far off.)

“This is good.” Morgana nods, digging at the tub of ice-cream with renewed fervour. “Brilliant, actually. It almost tastes like wine.”

“It’s rum.” Kara supplies with a chuckle, watching Morgana go at it like a (wo)man starved of water. “Rum and raisin. It’s Alex’ favourite flavour. I figured that you two might share a similar taste in ice-cream, guess I was right. Now, this,” Darting to the fridge and back, Kara presents the sorceress with another tub of ice-cream. “This is ****_my_**** favourite flavour – cookies and cream. Try it.”

This time around, Morgana plunges in without hesitation. Kara would never think it possible but her face lights up further.

“This is amazing,” she mumbles between mouthfuls, and Kara nearly laughs.

Because here she is now, doing the one thing she’s been so against this whole entire time – talking with her mouth full. Oh, how she has been constantly chiding Kara for doing it. Now, look at how the tables have turned.

“Just how many flavours are there?” She asks, currently alternating between scoops from each tub.

“A lot. As many as you can think of.” Kara says, with a musing hum.

Morgana stops short then, turning to stare Kara dead in the eye. “I want to try them all.” She says, in all seriousness, looking almost wild – feral. Frenzied even.

But it’s just so hard to take her seriously when there is a thin layer of ice-cream coating her upper-lip like an ice-cream-stache – as Alex calls it.

“We all do.” Kara only nods, trying her best not to laugh. She wonders if she should point it out to Morgana, but thinks better of it.

Maybe later.

When she’s full and sated and done relishing the entirety of Alex’ stash of–

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” warns Kara, eyes bulging slightly at the larger than normal spoonful of ice-cream that Morgana plans to shovel into her mouth.

“Or what?”

Morgana being Morgana in the wilful way that she is, refuses to heed her warning, taking it all in with one ambitious bite. Kara cringes on Morgana’s part.

She has seen this scene play once too many times to know how it will play out.

No less than a second, as if right on cue, Morgana’s face pinches into that signature look of agony, brows furrowing and lips puckering to contain the long drawn-out whimper that escapes her despite herself.

As amused as Kara is by the spectacle before her, she still has some sense to take pause when the air around them turns still in the way that it does right before –

Their glasses of juice on the table shatter into a million pieces.

“Or ****_that_**** ,” she sighs wistfully, dragging herself out of her seat to clean up the mess of glass and juice everywhere.

That tallies up the damage for the day.

“What in the world was that?” Morgana groans, clutching at her head as she props her elbows up onto the table, slouching forward.

“It’s called a brain-freeze,” explains Kara, pouring her a glass of water once she is done with the cleanup. “It’s apparently something you get when you gulp cold things down too fast.”

Morgana grimaces, albeit gratefully accepting the proffered glass of water as she takes a ginger sip out of it. “You were right though,” she mutters.

“Right about what?”

“It does taste of happiness.” Morgana says, softly, fingering the rim of her glass of water musingly.

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Kara could have sworn her lips had slighted into a ghost of a smile just then. Though, she can’t be too sure. Because in the next moment, her face had reverted back into its usual impassive mask once more.

Kara chuckles, fingers moving deftly to unwrap the next item on the list.

“So, do you wanna’ have a go at it with the chocolate?”

Morgana glances over at her warily. “If it involves having anything like these ‘brain-freezes’ then n–mmfph.”

But before she can even finish her sentence, Kara had shoved a good chunk of the chocolate into her mouth before making a mad dash out of the dining area – and Morgana’s line of fire (quite literally) – cackling all the while as she does so.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: okay whoa, this chap def came out way longer than i expected it to be and i hope you guys like it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i think a couple of you guys requested to see more of morgana reacting to modern-day food. asketh and you shalt receivth. so here it is. i promise the next chapter will be lighter so bear with me. and with that i'll see you guys soon. xx


	11. music for the soul

"Good morning," greets the blonde _fae_ – no, alien – with a sleepy yawn and a mighty stretch first thing upon rousing.

All as Morgana watches her from the nearby dining-cum-breakfast table, her ever so permanent scowl fixedly in place, twirling on the ends of her lips.

It's just something about the way the alien had risen from her slumber; fluttering her eyes open and unfurling from her cocoon of sheets like a blossoming rosebud at the first break of dawn that riles Morgana up.

And when she gingerly sits herself upright with a sleepily contented smile, without so much of a single hair out of place, golden tresses falling over a sun-kissed shoulder in immaculate curls, and eyes blinking blue and so very infinitely clear, it only further fuel the burning irritation Morgana feels stirring inside of her.

There is no way anyone can look this immaculate first thing in the morning.

Not even royalty.

Or the help of magic, for that matter.

But alas, once again, Kara Zor El has managed to defy all odds and accomplish the impossible.

_How infuriating._

"Try again." Morgana snaps, stabbing at her breakfast – a ripened apple she had meticulously picked off from the colourful fruit bowl on the counter – quite viciously with a particularly sharp knife she had found lying around in the cutlery tray.

Through the years she had spent outside the walls of Camelot hiding away in her little hovel in the middle of the woods, she has grown to be especially adept with the blade. One of the many few things she had picked up from Morgause while training under her wing, was to always keep a blade on one's self.

Because even magic can sometimes still fail; in which case, a good old dagger will do the trick.

"Someone's grumpy this morning." Kara points out with a quiet mumble, eyes trained, riveted onto the effortless sway Morgana has with her knife; the finesse in which she slices into the apple's juicy flesh, then picks it up with the edge of her teeth, barely scrapping against the flat end of the blade.

Despite keeping a focussed eye on her knife work on her apple, Morgana certainly doesn't miss the way Kara's throat bob with a swallow, an unreadable expression flittering across her countenance.

"You sleep-fly," Morgana scowls, carving into her apple with slightly more force than is required, albeit careful not to injure herself by accident.

She drags off with yet another ferocious bite, blade to her lips, teeth against cold steel, all the while as she glowers darkly – pointedly – at the blonde alien still sitting in bed.

"And it's bothersome."

"Well, says **_you_** ," blusters Kara, spine straightening and arms crossing defensively over her chest, looking almost indignant. Almost. If it weren't for the tell-tale dust of pink across her sun-kissed cheeks. "Who's, um, apparently a fidgety sleeper." She swallows yet again, instinctively reaching for the bridge of her nose, as if to nervously push at the pair of glasses she so frequently adorns, albeit serving no real purpose apart for being a 'disguise' of sorts.

Though, Morgana is not entirely sure to whom she is even trying to fool, seeing that she looks no different with or without those dark-rimmed frames sitting atop her nose.

"I beg your pardon?" She cants her head over towards the alien deliberately, her quiet voice bearing just a hint of an underlying tremor of a very real threat.

The steady blade in her hand makes for another forceful slash into the diminishing apple, and she watches as Kara flinches despite herself.

"C-can you please stop doing that?"

Carefully arching a wilful brow, she hoists the flat end of the blade to her lips, making sure to hold the alien's gaze every second of the way as she gnashes at her sliced apple, purposefully licking away at its stickily sweet juice coated along the flat end of her knife, eyes blazing defiantly with challenge.

Kara only sighs in response, quickly averting her eyes, albeit not without a blush quickly colouring her cheeks. With a defeated shake of the head, she swings herself off the bed and onto her feet, wherein with a blur and a blink, lo and behold, she's standing before the open fridge, dressed and idly rummaging through its contents.

"Is there anything I can get you to put you out of your sour mood? Some ice-cream, maybe?"

Morgana rolls her eyes at that. "A larger sphere of personal space, if you will," she drawls back, quite snidely.

Breathing another quiet sigh, Kara pivots back around at Morgana, slamming the fridge shut with her hip while she effortlessly balances three large boxes of their leftover pizza from the night before, and gingerly deposits them safely atop the dining table.

"Someone's definitely not a morning person," she grouses under breath, albeit still within earshot of Morgana.

Her resulting riposte comes in the form a silent, withering glare.

Kara raises her hands up in surrender.

"Okay, how about this," she begins, busying back around the counter, scouring through her shelves for whatever it is that she is looking for, pizza boxes still left markedly untouched and unopened on the table.

Which, in itself is an achievement, really. Considering her voracious appetite that is close to insatiable.

Not once in Morgana's travels has she ever come across a maiden quite like Kara Zor El. A young, sprightly maiden who can very easily out-eat the biggest, beefiest and most brutish mercenary in all of Camelot. A maiden who require no less than five hearty helpings of food in her belly before she's completely sated, all in which still somehow managing to maintain a slim and trim figure.

_How envious._

Not that Morgana would ever admit her envy outwardly, albeit channelling it into a more acceptable form of vexed energy – anger and irritation.

Finally retrieving the object she has been set on finding, which comes in the form of a small, box-like device that fits snugly in the palm of her hand, the blonde alien then sets said-contraption atop the kitchen counter with a merry little pat and a large, jaw-splitting grin.

A gesture that Morgana now associates with the introduction of the various items and gadgets of this time – something that she still doesn't quite know if she should dread or feel excited for. But then again, with the infectious cheer in the alien's voice and the laughter in her eyes, it's almost hard not to get all spirited for this.

"Let's have some music to brighten up this _terrific_ Sunday morning."

And with a quick jab of a button, the device crackles into life; murmuring of voices wafting through the air, jabbering on about inconsequential matters that Morgana can hardly care less.

"Is that a radio?" She queries, voice lacking in its gritty edge that comes with the burst of frustration carried on from earlier.

"Aren't you catching on quickly?" Kara turns to look over her shoulder at her, slanting her a roguish smile, a hint of pride glittering in her eyes. "Close, it's a mini stereo system, but yes we're going to be tuning in to the radio stations with this."

She reverts back over to the stereo system device thing, fiddling and prodding at its buttons while Morgana watches on curiously with unbridling fascination.

"And now," the alien pauses, with a dramatic flourish of the hands and a radiant grin, "for some music."

And instantly, the device crackles to life, and Morgana is immediately struck by the heavy intensity of a beat, resonating and thumping wildly off the walls of their living quarters as the barest lilt of a singing voice carries through with an inconspicuous melody.

For a very brief second, she has that one irrational fear that it would bring down the entire structure of the building.

"You call that music?" She asks, aghast, resisting the urge to plug her ears in with her fingers to cease that maddening pulse of a rhythm. Because now, that will be just plain straight up rude.

(What with her effort to be as civil as she can with Kara.)

Said-alien glances back over at her, blue eyes sparkling mirthfully, head bobbing to the all-consuming beat. "You don't like it?" She says, with a little laugh.

"Not at all, no," answers Morgana with a bit of a grimace, and as aggravating it is, it only seems to amuse the alien further. "That whole pounding thing is honestly giving me a headache."

"Pounding thing... You mean the bass?"

"Bass, whatever it is you call it – just turn it off." Morgana grits out testily, patience clearly wearing thin.

Recognising the warning in her voice, sees Kara fumbling for the buttons once more, movements a frazzled frenzy. "Okay, fine. How about this then?"

Much to Morgana's utmost relief, the incessant grating beat abates. Though similar are the sounds of the instruments as the music from before – too sharp, too jarring. It almost feels like an assault on her senses, not knowing exactly what she should be paying attention to; the weak flutter of a vocal line or the powerful, overbearing cacophony of strange instruments.

"I don't like it," says Morgana flatly, frowning as the music drones on away in the background.

Kara blinks, looking genuinely surprised then, having been caught off guard in the midst of her silly little dance. "But it's so groovy and catchy. You can never go wrong with Taylor Swift."

"I just don't." Morgana pulls a small face. Not that she knows who or what a 'Taylor Swift' is.

Sighing quietly, the alien thankfully presses a button that zips the music into a halting silence.

"Then what sort music do you like then?"

That definitely got Morgana to thinking.

What sort of music **did** she like?

Uther had certainly fancied the occasional choral. Though while it may be a personal preference of his, he would more often than not force it down her and Arthur's throats by persuading them to sit in with him for the entirety of the demonstration.

Because as a royal, Morgana was inclined to portray an image of grace and poise – as someone with refined taste and culture – as Uther would so frequently preach.

But if she were to be completely honest, it had bored her more so than anything else in the entire world.

The kind of music she did somewhat remotely enjoy, however...

Was probably music from the taverns.

Oh, how she had marvelled at the way the men and drunkards would sing merrily to the strum of the bard, dancing the night away without any heed and care to the world around them. The tales and hymns dedicated to the newly crowned king in the East, sung in songs of conquest and war.

It had sparked a flame in Morgana's young heart back then, and she remembers thinking, wishing fervently for the day when it would be her turn for her name to be sung in songs spun of glory and pride amidst the people of Camelot.

But those were the days of the old.

Back when she was still young and foolish.

And naïve.

Now, bards from across the lands would sing of her madness and hatred, spreading tales of her ire – the villages she has sent aflame in her rage, burnt to ashes and dying cinders.

 

_('Morgana O Morgana, fallen from grace_

_A heart once so pure,_

_O how the darkness has claimed.')_

 

(She would never admit it out loud, but a small part of her despises herself for how far she has actually fallen.)

"I don't know," Morgana says, gritting at her teeth, fists balled. Her eyes are dark, tumultuous like the stormiest of seas – and maybe even a touch sad. "I don't know what I like anymore."

She bows her head, casting her eyes down onto the spot on the floor. Even without looking, she can still feel the heat of the alien's gaze hot on her neck, watching her – regarding her quietly. And it only serves to unnerve Morgana all the more.

She can literally picture the look in her eyes.

That nauseating pitying look.

Like Morgana ever needs anyone's pit–

"Then how about this," Kara's quiet voice cuts through her scathing train of thoughts, startling her slightly.

With a click of a button, music begins to fill the air.

And unlike before, this one is lacking in any noticeable vocal line, solely riding on the sounds of the instrument alone, wafting through Morgana's ears in a soothing flow of melody. It enshrouds her senses completely, lulling her into this strange sense of calm.

Bit by bit, she finds herself surrendering to the piece of music, the tension pulling taut in her muscles abating slowly, easing up with a quiet breath. She closes her eyes, allowing herself the privilege to indulge in the riveting melody, letting its thin highs and rumbling lows to paint a picture in her head, transporting her to some place far and nostalgic.

"What is this?" Morgana queries softly, her voice a mixture of awe and intrigue.

She can't tell for sure what sort of an instrument it is that is playing at the moment, sounding nothing quite like she has ever heard before. Although, at a closer listen, it does vaguely resemble the strumming of a lyre, except fuller and mellower. The trickle of keys and notes ringing pleasantly like chimes to her ears. It's something she would imagine what falling rain would sound like if it were weaved into music.

"It's Debussy," Kara answers simply, and as if suddenly remembering herself, she adds quickly, "He's under a genre of music called 'classical'."

"I like it," Morgana says, looking over at the blonde alien to pin her down with a sharp but fervent look, green eyes flashing bright. "I like this." She vaguely twirls a finger in the air, gesturing to the music quietly drifting between them.

She has never felt more calm and soothed before – at least not in a long, long time.

Still caught up with the flow of music, she completely misses the soft, almost fond smile that Kara sends her way.

"I could listen to this all day," Morgana murmurs absently, smiling quietly despite herself.

She gives a tiny little start when the scratching of the chair across the floorboard momentarily cuts through the air and the music. She raises her head sharply, only to find herself greeted by the sight of the blonde alien seated across her from the small dining table, grinning broadly back at her with an unreadable sparkle in her eye.

"Then let's!"

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: i just want to start off with a giant apology for the lack of update on this one. my fault for starting two current on-goings at the same time. but i really wanted to dedicate all of my focus to finishing Happenstance, before getting back to this other baby of mine. tho, now that Happenstance is thankfully done and finished with, im glad to announce that this fic will be once again back up and running again. 
> 
> also, i've done my best to incorporate some of the 'Morgana react to' requests here, ie. Morgana reacts to Kara’s music collection, radio and stereo system. Also that Morgana eating an apple off from her knife seen as previously seen in Merlin.
> 
> anyhow, just want to say thank you all for the wait and i'll see u guys soon!

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come yell at me on tumblr @[frostybwitch](http://frostybwitch.tumblr.com/)


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